Home is where the heart is
by beingrowdy
Summary: Just a small, fluffy piece of writing centered on Foyle and Andrew. Please note that this is AU since Hector makes an appearance.


_This story is AU because of Hector. Hector is a German shepherd who from time to time appears in my stories. I have no idea where he comes from and when he chooses to appear but if he bothers you, then don't read on._

_English is not my first language and this is un-betaed. Feel free to correct me, but please do so kindly (betas are always appreciated!). I own nothing but Hector. _

_Written for my niece Josefine because I still remember the first time I held her in my arms and the feeling of responsibility and love coming from holding a baby so small… love you forever, Little Bits._

**Hastings, Fall 1940**

It was quite cold when Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle made his way home. Usually he would make the journey by car, but since his driver Samantha Stewart, or Sam among friends, had asked to leave early in order to eat dinner with her father, Foyle had been forced to make the way by foot. It was not something he minded, the temperature might not lie about the fact that winter was fast approaching, but the sun was still out and it was quite a nice evening. At the same time Sam rarely asked for anything and Foyle could, more than anyone, understand the wish to spend time with family. Since the death of his wife almost nine years ago, Foyle had been alone with his son, and while his mother and both Rosalind's parents were still alive, both parts lived far away, his mother in Cardiff in Wales and his in-laws near the border to Scotland. His son would be 22 in the spring, but since his call-up in the beginning of the year, Foyle had not seen much of him. Andrew had always had a love for anything with wings and his early experience with airplanes, coming from hanging out with some of the retired pilots from the Great War, had benefitted him when he got drafted. Andrew had been made to serve with the RAF and after the first routine training had been sent to train to be a Spitfire pilot. Foyle was more than proud of his young, wayward son whom seemed to have matured before his very sight every time he returned home, but he could never let go of the worry he held for the boy. In spite of his age and his new job, Andrew was in his father's eyes still just a boy and properly would be until the day he died – neither age nor experience could ever change that. Foyle could still remember with crystal clearness when Andrew had been so small he could easily hold him in the palms of his hands, and somehow that first impression of being responsible for such a fragile and small life never really went away.

With these thoughts in mind Foyle made it the last of the way to his white townhouse in the outskirt of downtown Hastings. He and his wife had bought the house when Rosalind had been expecting Andrew and even though the house was a little big for just one person, Foyle could not accept the idea of selling it. He loved the charm of the place, and he adored the garden with the old trees and the bed of roses his wife had planted many years ago. Foyle smiled at the memory as he let himself into the small hallway. The sixth sense which was also one of the things that made him an excellent policeman, immediately told him that something was up. For a moment he just stood perfectly still and tried to determine what had alarmed him, when then it suddenly dawned on him, Hector was missing. A few years ago, a fellow police officer had brought in a police dog, a big, black German shepherd by the name of Hector. While some of the other officers had been wary of the dog, Foyle had from the first moment liked both the dog and his owner and when Henderson, the handler had been killed in an accident, Foyle had inherited Hector. After Foyle's promotion to Chief Superintendent he did not use Hector much for active duty, but since he did not know anyone whom he felt would both benefit from having the dog and appreciated his company, Foyle had decided to keep Hector himself. From time to time he brought the dog in with him, if Hector's expertise was needed, but most days Hector stayed at home. Usually when Foyle returned home Hector would be in the hallway, waiting for him with a wagging tail and beg to be let out into the garden, but today he was nowhere to be seen and that put Foyle on edge. When he was not at home, Hector was confined to the hallway and kitchen and he was neither place. Foyle put down his briefcase and hat on the small settee,

"Hector?" he called out, and was surprised when he heard the dog whine in response from upstairs. It was possible for Hector access the first floor, but Foyle had never before experienced the dog to move up there when alone. Afraid something might be wrong he was half way up the stairs when something caught his eye: on the banister was a jacket, and not just any jacket, but a chocolate brown leather jacket, curtsy of the RAF. His heart skipped a beat as he reached out his hand and with the uttermost care caressed the soft material, somehow needing to touch it in order to truly believe that it was really there. A short moment he just stood perfectly still, touching his son's jacket, but then the spell was somehow broken, and he turned around and went up the stairs. The small hallway upstairs was already illuminated and Foyle quickly made his way down to Andrew's room. He stopped dead in his tracks on the threshold at the sight greeting him. Andrew's room was facing directly west, and the light from the setting sun spread a soft glow in the room. On the bed by the window, his son was curled up on his side, fast asleep. He had shed his uniform jacket and tie on the chair in the corner, but was still in his shirt and dress pants. As Foyle quietly stepped closer, he became aware of the bruising on the right side of his son's cheek and eye, and the bandage on his right hand. Andrew also seemed a bit thinner than the last time Foyle had seen him, and that combined with the obvious injuries worried the parenting part of his heart. He sat down on the bed near Andrew's hip, and could not resist the urge to reach out and lovingly touch his son's unruly, black hair. Despite the bruises on his face, Andrew looked peaceful as he slept, almost fooling his father into forgetting that his son was now a grown man, since his relaxed features of sleep made him look so much younger. Despite the carefulness, the movement had interfered with Andrew's rest, and Foyle found himself looking into dark eyes clouded with sleep. Andrew lifted his head a bit and clearly struggle to fully wake up. Never intending to wake his child, Foyle gently pushed his son back down, and hushed him with nonsense sound, like he had done when Andrew had been little. Andrew was not hard to persuade to lie back down, and Foyle became aware of just how tired his son was when the boy looked up at him and in a small voice muttered,

"Daddy?"

It had been day and age since Andrew had called him that, and Foyle felt his heart fill with love at his son's reuse of the name.

"Yes, I'm here, but you have to go back to sleep now, schhh", he said in a low, soft voice and to his joy experienced that he still held the ability to guide his grown son back to sleep, just by using his tone of voice. Andrew closed his dark eyes, and with a soft mewling sound returned to the sleep that he so obviously was in dire need of. Sitting back, Foyle observed his sleeping son for a moment before focusing on his 'lost' dog. The black, German shepherd was lying on the bed, next to Andrew, and his son had his right arm thrown carelessly over the big form of the dog. Hector had not at any moment moved from his position next to his charge, and Foyle could not help but smile, when he locked eyes with the dog. From the moment he had brought Hector home, he had come to realize that he, forever, would play second fiddle to his son when it came to the dog. Hector and Andrew had immediately formed a strong bond, and wherever one was, the other was usually found, and Foyle was not at all surprised, that the dog had denied leaving his master's side in order to greet him. Foyle reached out and fondled Hector's ear for a moment before leaning over and looking the dog in the eye,

"I know that you are just doing your job, but you're perfectly capable of watching him from the floor and you know damn well that you have no business lying on the beds", he said and then, getting up himself pointed at the rug on the floor in front of Andrew's bed. For a short moment Hector just looked at him, but the big dog was well aware who the master of the house was, and soundlessly jumped off the bed to lay on the floor. Foyle turned towards the cupboard and withdrew a blanket, which he gently spread over his son in order for him not to get cold. With a last pat on Andrew's hair Foyle walked out of the room. On the threshold he paused and looked back. Hector had curled up in a ball on the floor with his front against the doorway, and Foyle was certain that he could not wish for better soldier guarding his son while he slept. With a smile on his face, Foyle quietly went downstairs in order to prepare dinner – for the moment, all was well in the world.


End file.
